Nabuco 


The  Place  of  Camoens  in 
Literature 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


t' 


The  Place  of  Camoens  in  Literature 


Gentlemen  of  Yale  University  : 

When  I  bad  read  the  Lusiads  for  the  first  time,  I  at 
once  wrote  a  book  to  tell  of  my  wonder,  offermg  for  it 
the  only  apology  that  a  tribute  of  love  is  always  ac- 
ceptable to  a  poet.  I  do  not  repent  of  having  recorded 
in  print  that  early  impression,  which  has  developed  into 
years  of  faithful  admiration  and  has  kept  company 
with  my  mind  throughout  life.  Still  I  always  intended 
to  renew  to  Camoens  on  my  decline  the  vow  of  my 
youth,  and  it  is  quite  an  unexpected  fortune  for  me  to 
be  allowed  to  do  it  before  a  great  American  University. 

While  literary  culture  was  chiefly  under  Latin  influ- 
ence the  LusiADs  was  sure  of  the  place  claimed  for  it  by 
the  Portuguese  race.  Now  Culture  is  becoming  more 
diffusely  Anglo-German  and  still  every  sign  is  that, 
both  in  Anglo-Saxon  and  in  German  countries,  its  great 
fame  will  continue  unchallenged.  These,  however,  are 
hard  times  for  the  Classics,  even  for  the  favourite  ones, 
and  some  reminder  seems  necessary  for  Camoens 
among  the  American  students,  to  whom  he  has  always 
been  more  or  less  a  stranger,  although  introduced  by 
Longfellow  himself. 

It  is  easy  to  show  what  a  great  poet  Camoens  is.  It 
is  enough  to  take  the  Lusiads  and  read  the  episode  of 
Ignez  de  Castro,  or  the  episode  of  Adamastor,  or  the 
episode  of  the  Isle  of  Love,  but  for  that  it  is  necessary 
that  the  audience  understand  Portuguese.  Failing  this 
condition,  one  must  depend  on  the  translator,  on  foreign 
help.  To  deprive  a  Poet  of  his  language  is  to  take  away 
from  him  half  his   soul.     Who  could  translate  into 


49420 


French  or  Italian  Milton's  L' Allegro  or  Shelley's  To 
a  Skylark,  without  a  loss  of  what  was  dearest  in  either 
to  them?  Every  great  poet  is  great  in  any  language, 
but  none  is  ever  as  great  in  another  as  in  his  own,  and 
the  loss  they  suffer  by  translation  may  be  so  material 
as  to  affect  their  relative  position  in  literature.  That  is 
the  case  with  Camoens. 

Speaking  specially  of  him,  he  has  before  any  audi- 
ence not  familiar  with  Portuguese  many  other  disad- 
vantages in  a  competition.  He  is  above  all  his  Nation's 
poet;  that  was  not  only  his  fate,  it  was  also  his  am- 
bition, and,  as  the  poet  of  Portugal,  he  suffers  from  the 
want  of  general  interest  in  the  Portuguese  race,  in  the 
part  it  played  in  history,  in  its  individuality.  The 
world  is  always  charmed  by  the  names  of  Greece, 
Eome,  the  Italian  Republics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
that  gives  an  additional  lustre  to  the  Iliad,  the  ^neid, 
the  Diviyie  Comedy.  In  everything  fortune  has  its  part, 
with  nations  as  well  as  with  men,  and  in  nothing  else  as 
much  as  in  fame.  When  the  claim  of  a  poet  comes  to  be 
weighed,  the  charm  of  his  own  race  should  therefore  be 
considered.  Only  an  ancient  Roman  could  say  with 
real  knowledge  to  what  extent  each  of  the  three  lan- 
guages, Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese,  sounds  like 
his  Latin ;  certainly  much  of  the  mother  tongue  has  been 
preserved  in  each  of  them  that  was  effaced  by  use  or 
disuse  from  the  other  two;  still  Portuguese  is  the  ne- 
glected sister.  That  must  be  a  case  of  historical  pres- 
tige. Then  the  suliject  of  the  Lusiads,  the  discovery 
of  the  East,  appeals  more  to  the  European  than  to  the 
American  imagination.  For  the  Americans  Vasco  da 
Gama  is  a  secondary  figure  to  that  of  Columbus.  The 
true  interest  of  Discovery  centres  for  us  in  the  crossing 
of  the  Atlantic  and  in  the  finding  of  America. 


•  •  •      •  •  I 

•  •  •  4    ••  ! 

•  •  •  •  •  /  •  V 

•      «  •  «     •  • 


•   •    •    •  •  • 


If  we  sum  up  the  circumstances  that  will  tell  against 
Camoens  abroad,  we  have:  the  general  ignorance  of 
the  language  in  which  he  wrote;  the  too  great  loss  he 
has  suffered  by  translation;  the  lesser  hold  that  Por- 
tugal has  on  the  imagination  of  the  world ;  the  inferior 
interest  of  the  Portuguese  language  on  this  account; 
and,  lastly,  the  shade  that  Columbus  casts,  specially  in 
the  American  mind,  over  Vasco  da  Gama,  as  heroes  of 
the  Age  of  Discovery.  Do  not  think  I  am  making  my 
favourite  appear  so  handicapped  to  withdraw  him  from 
the  field.  I  stick  to  his  colours.  I  only  want  to  explain 
to  you  the  indifference  felt  for  the  Lusiads  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  Portuguese  language. 

Since  I  mentioned  the  translators,  I  must  assure  you 
I  do  not  intend  to  disparage  them.     Camoens  would 
feel  proud  of  their  homage.     They  have  all  rendered 
much  service  to  him.    Richard  Fanshaw's  translation, 
printed  in  1655,  popularized  the  Lusiads  among  the 
3"  men  of  letters  of  the  Restoration.    It  is  the  one  that 
$   Milton  must  have  read.     That  of  Mickle  was  repub- 
3   lished  several  times  since  1776,  and  both  Southey  and 
,   Walter  Scott  called  him  a  poet  and  a  man  of  genius. 
^  What    they    did    for    the    17th    and    18th    centuries, 
Quillinan,  unfortunately  only  in  part,  Aubertin  and 
Richard  F.  Burton  did  for  the  19th.    Still  we  should  not 
read  any  of  them  with  the  impression  that  we  are  read- 
ing Camoens  himself.    None  is  safe.    All  put  much  of 
their  own  in  the  poem.    Another  translator  is  needed 
who  will  not  lend  to  the  poet,  but  will  let  him  appear 
entirely  alone,  without  fearing  for  him.     Whenever 
the  rendering  of  a  former  translator  should  be  found  to 
be  a  perfect  equivalent  of  the  original  in  English  verse, 
that  ought  to  be  saved.     Once  perfection  is  attained, 
one  should  simply  copy  it.    Perfection  is  final.    Such  a 


translation  of  the  Lusiads  would  reveal  a  much  greater 
Camoens  to  the  English  speaking  races.  The  master's 
own  picture  lies  hidden  for  them  under  the  work  of  his 
translators.  Why  should  not  this  prose  version  come 
from  Yale?  You  have  the  man:  Professor  Henry  R. 
Lang.  Portuguese,  however,  has  such  resemblance 
with  Spanish  and,  although  less,  with  Italian,  that  a 
reader  of  Cervantes  or  of  Dante  in  the  original  would 
easily  notice  any  sensible  difference  between  the  Portu- 
guese text  and  the  translation  by  comparing  them. 

I  will  give  a  stanza  of  the  Lusiads  in  Portuguese  and 
in  Italian  to  show  the  resemblance  between  the  two  lan- 
guages and  that  of  both  with  Latin.  Camoens  explains 
the  love  of  Venus  for  the  Portuguese,  whom  Bacchus 
wishes  to  destroy.  I  will  read  it  first  in  English: 
^'Against  Bacchus  stands  the  beautiful  Venus,  at- 
tached to  the  Lusitan  race  for  the  many  qualities  she 
found  in  it  of  her  own  beloved  Romans:  the  stout 
hearts;  the  brilliant  star,  showed  on  the  lands  of 
Tanger;  and  the  language,  which,  the  more  she  thinks, 
the  more  appears  to  her,  with  slight  change,  to  be  the 
Latin."    I,  33. 

Sustentava  contra  elle  Venus  bella 

Sosteneva  contro  dilui  Venere  'bella 

AffeiQoada  S,  gente  Lusitana 

Affezionata  alia  gente  Lusitana 

For  quantas  qualidades  via  nella 

Per  itutte)  quante  {le)  qualitd  vedeva  in  essa 

Da  antiga  tao  amada  sua  Romana: 

Delia  antica  tanto  amata  sua  (gente)  Romana: 

Nos  fortes  coragoes,  na  grande  estrella, 

Nei  forti  cuori,  nella  grande  Stella, 

Que  mostraram  na  terra  Tingitana; 

Que  (essa)  avea  mostrata  sulla  terra  Tingitana; 

E  na  lingua,  na  qual  quanto  imagina, 

E  nella  lingua  chd  piu  vi  pensa  (quanto  imagina) 

Com  pouca  corrupcao  ere  que  6  a  Latina. 

Con  poca  (corruzione)   differ enza  crede  che  sia  la  Latina. 


Let  me  say  a  short  word  for  Portugal.  Portugal  is 
one  of  the  Nations  that  play  a  leading  part  in  History, 
that  is,  one  of  those  which  accomplish  through  their 
initiative  some  destiny  of  mankind.  In  a  sense,  all 
modern  discoverers  may  be  said  to  hail  from  the  school 
of  Sagres  and  to  have  had  Prince  Henry-the-Navigator 
for  their  patron.  Not  to  speak  of  the  earlier  discov- 
eries, like  those  of  Madeira,  the  Azores,  the  Cabo  Verde 
Islands,  it  was  a  Portuguese,  Bartholomeu  Dias,  who 
converted  the  Cape  of  Tempests  into  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope;  another,  Vasco  da  Gama,  who  first  reached 
India;  another,  Pedro  Alvares  Cabral,  who  discovered 
Brazil,  and  to  another,  Magellan,  belong  the  great 
honours  of  the  circumnavigation  of  the  Globe.  Without 
the  Portuguese  discoveries  you  could  not  explain 
Columbus.  The  influence  of  the  Portuguese  navigators 
was  certainly  the  greatest  of  all  upon  him;  he  must 
have  learned  sea-life  under  their  teaching;  he  married 
the  daughter  of  one  of  Prince  Henry's  captains;  he 
lived  for  a  time  in  Lisbon,  and  it  was  only  by  some  yet 
unknqw_  mystery  that  the  honour  of  helping  him  to 
carry  out  his  dream  passed  from  King  John  II  of 
Portugal  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  In  1580  however, 
such  was  then  the  force  of  the  dynastic  principle, 
Philip  the  Second  of  Spain  succeeded  to  the  thone  of 
Portugal  and  the  Nation  disappeared. 

It  was  a  providential  accident  that  the  Lusiads  was 
published  on  the  very  eve  of  the  country's  death.  The 
result,  sixty  years  later,  was  the  resurrection  of  the 
nationality,  all  over  the  seas,  almost  intact,  and  in 
parts,  as  in  Brazil,  even  aggrandised.  Between  1572, 
the  year  of  the  Poem's  birth,  and  1640,  when  the  Resto- 
ration took  place,  there  had  been  issued  in  Lisbon  no 
less  than  thirteen  editions.    The  name  alone  was  a  na- 


>^ 


tional  rallying  cry.  The  master-piece  raised  between 
the  two  races  of  the  Peninsula  an  intellectual  frontier, 
such  as  Don  Quijote  would  have  raised  in  favour  of 
Spain,  had  Portugal  been  the  dominating  Power.  No 
doubt  the  spirit  of  Nationality  was  also  kept  alive  by 
the  legend  of  Dom  Sebastiam,  whose  return  the  Portu- 
guese nation  expected  during  centuries ;  but  Sebastian- 
ism  was,  to  a  great  extent,  a  creation  of  the  Lusiads,  its 
first  creation. 

Vasco  da  Gama's  voyage  is  only  the  episode  of  the 
Poem;  the  divinity  to  whom  it  is  consecrated,  its  col- 
lective hero,  is  "the  noble  Lusian  breast,  whom  both 
Neptune  and  Mars  obeyed. 


J) 


'.     .     .     .     o  peito  illustre  Lusitano, 
A  quern  Neptuno  e  Marte  obedeceram." 


He  sings  all  those  who  by  valorous  deeds  free  them- 
selves from  the  Law  of  Death : 

"Aquelles  que  por  obras  valerosas 
Se  vao  da  lei  da  morte  libertando." 


Like  every  true  national  Poem,  the  Lusiads  is  cyclical. 
Its  fragments  are  the  nation's  legends,  each  appearing 
the  chief  one  while  it  is  simg.  The  national  feeling  was 
so  strong  with  the  Poet  that,  both  on  beginning  and  on 
closing  his  Poem,  he  is  thinking  of  another  great  event 
to  sing.  The  title  would  admit  as  many  more  cantos  as 
might  be  the  Portuguese  heroic  undertakings.  Even 
some  other  might  continue  the  Poem,  if  his  equal  could 
be  found. 

This  is  the  first  great  impression  of  the  Lusiads: 
Country-worship.    The  work  is  planned  as  the  national 


Monument.  The  men  and  women  of  Portuguese  his- 
tory are  the  statues,  or  medallions;  the  country's  bat- 
tles, the  large  frescoes;  the  voyage  to  India,  the  en- 
circling frieze;  the  discovered  seas  and  lands,  the 
mosaic  pavement.  One  must  understand  that  the 
Poem  is  both  a  national  chapel  and  a  national  reli- 
quaire,  not  to  question  the  space  given  in  it  to  Portu- 
guese history  alone.  Camoens  was  a  Portuguese  be- 
fore being  a  poet,  as  Dante  was  an  Italian  and  Milton 
an  Englishman.  Much  of  his  work  is  therefore  bound 
to  be  indifferent  to  strangers.  He  meant  it.  Portions 
of  it  can  only  be  appreciated  with  the  Portuguese  soul. 
In  every  great  literary  construction  there  is  also,  of 
necessity,  a  large  part,  which  only  forms  the  structure, 
the  mass,  the  size  of  the  work.  You  need  not  notice 
that ;  it  is  like  the  dark  foliage,  through  which  the  flow- 
ers are  scattered ;  the  barren  soil,  that  forms  the  cup  of 
the  emerald  lake.  Much  more  however  of  Portuguese 
history  than  he  leaves,  so  to  say,  in  state  of  ore,  is  con- 
verted by  the  Poet  into  perfect  poetry  by  a  single  toucH 
of  legend  or  by  a  touch  of  Ideal.  It  is  poetry  in  the 
LusiADS^  all  throughout,  the  voyage  of  the  ships  of 
Vasco  da  Gama  from  Lisbon  to  India;  it  is  poetry,  its 
rendering  of  the  origins  of  the  Portuguese  nation ;  her 
/  battles  with  Spain  and  with  the  Moors ;  the  meeting  of 
Queen  Maria  of  Spain  and  her  Father  Dom  Alfonso  IV ; 
the  story  of  Dona  Ignez  de  Castro ;  poetry,  the  ever  so 
many  epitaphs  he  writes  for  the  brave  who  fell  fighting 
for  King  and  Country  in  distant  parts;  the  itinerary 
of  the  envoys  of  Dom  Joam  II  in  search  of  the  land- 
route  to  India ;  the  figures  he  sculptured  full  size ;  it  is 
poetry,  each  of  his  short  drawings  of  Portuguese  scen- 
ery, or  of  any  far  away  domain  of  "the  small  Lusi- 
tanian  home,"   ''da  pequena   casa  Lusitana."    ''In 


8 

Africa  she  holds  maritime  settlements;  in  Asia  she  is 
more  sovereign  than  all;  in  the  new  fourth  Part  she 
cultivates  the  fields,  and,  if  there  was  still  more  World, 
there  she  would  reach. ' '    VII,  14. 


The  second  great  impression  of  the  Lusiads  is  that 
it  is  the  Poem  of  the  Sea.  Camoens  spent  years  of  his 
life  on  the  sea  in  times  when  sailing  created  an  intimacy 
with  it,  both  in  calm  and  in  tempest,  quite  unknown 
now  that  the  reign  of  the  winds  has  come  to  an  end. 
That  long,  silent  and  deep  communion  shows  itself  in 
nearly  every  stanza  of  his.  The  Lusiads  is  a  Poem  to 
be  read  on  deck,  under  the  sails.  Its  action  passes 
on  board-ship.  Camoens  drew  from  the  ocean  all  the 
inspiration  it  contains  and  passed  it  to  his  readers. 
Alexander  von  Humbolt  writes  of  him:  '* Camoens 
abounds  in  inimitable  descriptions  of  the  never  ceasing 
interchange  between  the  air  and  the  sea,  between  the 
varying  forms  of  the  clouds,  the  transformation  of  the 
sky,  and  the  different  states  through  which  passes  the 
surface  of  the  ocean.  He  is,  in  the  strictest  sense,  a 
great  sea-painter."  You  should  read  the  whole  pas- 
sage in  Humbolt 's  Cosmos.  What  strikes  most  in 
Camoens  are  not,  however,  so  much  the  descriptions, 
remarkable  for  their  accuracy  and  insight  of  Nature, 
in  which  the  naturalist  delights,  as  the  touches,  the 
solitary  verses,  that  contain  all  the  poetry  of  the  sea. 
One  feels  as  if  on  the  sea  itself,  so  much  so  that  to  read 
him  is  really  like  sailing,  as  far  as  imagination  is  con- 
cerned. Still  nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  his 
style.  See  if  you  detect  any  artifice  in  these  verses, 
remembering,  however,  that  the  old  myths  live  in  his 
heart  and  are  his  natural  exclamations. 


"The  ships  are  now  sailing  over  the  wide  ocean,  parting  the 
restless  waves;  the  winds  breath  softly,  and  fill  the  hollow  sails; 
the  seas  appear  covered  with  white  froth,  as  the  prows  cut  through 
the  consecrated  maritime  waters,  where  runs  the  flock  of  Pro- 
teus."—I,  19. 


And  again : 


"The  winds  push  them  so  gently  as  one  who  has  the  heaven  for 
his  friend;  the  air  is  serene,  the  skies  appear  without  a  cloud,  or 
fear  of  danger;  they  have  already  passed  the  cape  of  Prasso,  of 
ancient  name,  in  the  Ethiopic  coast,  and  the  sea  uncovers  before 
them  the  new  isles  that  it  encircles  and  is  ever  washing  around."— 
T,  43. 

In  no  Poem  will  you  find  more  perfect  pictures,  in  a 
few  touches  only,  of  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun, 
of  the  moonlight,  of  everj^  aspect  of  the  sea,  of  de- 
parture and  return,  of  all  that  makes  the  sailor's  life, 
till  his  burying  in  a  wave. 

"Quam  facil  6  ao  corpo  a  sepultura! 
Quaesquer  ondas  do  mar     .     .     ." 

—V,  83. 

He  will  call  the  ships  "swimming  birds,"  nadantes 
aves.    IV,  49. 

What  Portuguese  ever  saw  the  Tagus  coast  disap- 
pear in  the  horizon  who  did  not  keep  the  last  impres- 
sion fixed  by  Camoens  ?  ' '  Our  sight  is  already  little  by 
little  exiled  from  the  home  hills  which  remained;  re- 
mained the  dear  Tagus  and  the  cold  heights  of  Cintra, 
and  on  them  our  eyes  were  stretching;  there  also  re- 
mained the  hearts  which  grief  leaves  behind,  and  when 
the  beloved  country  was  all  hidden  away,  we  saw  noth- 
ing but  sea  and  sky. ' ' 


10 


"J§,  a  vista  pouco  e  pouco  se  desterra 
D'aquelles  patrios  montes  que  ficavam: 
Ficava  o  caro  Tejo  e  a  fresca  serra 
De  Cintra,  e  nella  os  olhos  se  alongavam; 
Ficava-nos  tarubem   na  amada  terra 
O  coragao,  que  as  magoas,  la  deixavam; 
E  ja  despois  que  toda  se  escondeo, 
Nao  vimos  mais  em  fim  que  mar,  e  ceo." 

— V. 


Of  Equatorial  Africa  tie  says:  *'AVe  passed  the  limit 
where  stops  the  sun  when  leading  his  chariot  to  the 
North  and  where  lie  the  races  to  which  the  son  of 
Clymene  (Phaeton)  refuses  the  colour  of  the  day." 

Here  are  a  few  short  pictures  of  morning  and  sun- 
set. ''As  soon  as  the  dappled  dawn  (to  take  the  word  of 
Milton)  spreads  over  the  quiet  skies  her  lovely  hair  and 
opens  the  purple  gate  to  bright  Hyperion,  rising  from 
his  sleep. ' ' 

Now  the  music  of  the  Poet  himself : 


'Mas  assi  como  a  Aurora  marchetada 
Os  fermosos  cabellos  espalhou 
No  ceo  sereno,  abrindo  a  roxa  entrada 
Ao  claro  Hyperionio,  que  acordou     .     .     ." 

I,  59. 


Again:  ''Already  the  loving  star  scintillates  in  the 
horizon  before  the  bright  sun,  and  visits,  messenger  of 
the  day,  the  earth  and  the  wide  sea  with  a  gladdening 
brow. ' ' 

"Mas  ja  a  amorosa  estrella  scintillava 
Diante  do  sol  claro  no  horizonte, 
Messageira  do  dia,  e  visitava 
A  terra,  e  o  largo  mar,  com  leda  fronte." 

—VI,  85. 


II 

Hear  how  it  sounds  like  Italian : 

"Ma  giS,  I'amorosa  stella  scintillava 
Dinanzi  al  chiaro  sol  nell  'orizzonte, 
Messagera  del  di,  e  visitava 
La  terra  e  il  largo  mar  con  lieta  fronte." 

The  verses  give  the  same  fresh,  luminous,  awakening 
impression  as  the  words  of  Shakespeare  on  the  lips  of 
Romeo : 

" .     .     .    jocund  day 

''Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops." 

Once  more,  the  morning:  ''The  slow  shadows  were 
already  dissolving  over  the  flowers  of  earth  in  fresh 
dew. ' '    Hear  the  inimitable  beauty  of  it  in  Portuguese : 

"lam-se  as  sombras  lentas  desfazendo 
Sobre  as  flores  da  terra  em  frio  orvalho." 

—II,   92. 

Now  the  sunset.  The  sun  is  approaching  his  "longed- 
for,  tardy,  goal,  and  the  God  of  Night  opens  for  him  the 
gate  of  his  secret  ocean  home. ' ' 

"E  da  casa  maritima  secreta 
Lhe  estava  o  deus  nocturno  a  porta  abrindo." 

—II,  1. 

And  elsewhere  again  the  evening  twilight:  "Now  the 
light  began  to  grow  uncertain,  as  the  mighty  lamp  was 
hiding  beneath  the  horizon,  and,  full  of  light,  was  carry- 
ing the  day  to  the  antipodes." 

"Mas  ja  a  luz  se  mostrava  duvldosa, 
Porque  a  alampada  grande  se  escondia 
Debaixo  do  horizonte,  e  luminosa 
Levava  aos  antipodas  o  dia." 

VIII,  44. 


12 

The  third  great  impression  is  that  of  Empire  build- 
ing and  of  sea-power.  Camoens  has  done  for  Portugal 
what  was  never  done  by  her  poets  for  England,  but,  by 
doing  it  for  his  own  Nation,  he  has  celebrated  the  whole 
colonial  expansion  of  Europe.  The  Lusiads  is  the  poem 
of  colonization,  of  far  away  enterprise,  and  therefore 
the  poem  of  the  building  up  of  the  New  World.  It  ex- 
presses the  whole  law  of  immigration,  the  greatest  of 
all  events  of  modern  History,  in  a  single  verse:  "Any 
land  is  country  for  the  strong. ' ' 

"Que  toda  terra  e  patria  para  o  forte." 

Edgar  Quinet  in  his  Genie  des  Religions  says  that  the 
Lusiads  is  the  poem  of  the  alliance  of  the  West  with 
the  East ....  ' '  You  find  in  it  everywhere,  he  writes,  a 
soul  as  deep  as  the  ocean  and  like  the  ocean  it  joins  the 
two  opposite  shores."  No  doubt  there  is  in  the  Lusiads 
a  powerful  evocation  of  the  newly  discovered  East,  but 
the  western  spirit  remains  free  in  the  Poet  from  all  its 
influence,  does  not  suffer  its  penetration,  nor  surren- 
ders, like  Alexander,  to  its  charm.  The  East  appears  to 
him  only  as  a  field  of  enterprise  and  action.  The  two 
shores  that  the  Lusiads  seem  destined  to  link  are  not  so 
much  those  of  Europe  and  Asia,  as  those  of  Europe  and 
America,  because,  as  has  so  often  been  said,  the  Lusiads 
is  the  poem  of  commerce  and  industry,  the  poem  of 
the  Modern  Age,  and  in  all  this  the  part  of  America  is 
and  shall  be  much  larger  than  that  of  Asia. 

The  fourth  great  impression  is  creative  power, 
imagination.  Nothing  shows  it  better  than  the  manner 
in  which  Camoens  converts  a  dull  log-book  into  grand 
poetry.  The  transformation  begins  with  the  dream  of 
King  Dom  Manoel,  to  whom  appear  the  spirits  of  the 


13 

Ganges  and  the  Indus,  to  tell  that  Portugal  will  rule 
in  India.  Follows  the  departure  of  the  fleet  from  Lis- 
bon, a  picture  in  which  Camoens  personifies  the  Past 
in  the  figure  of  an  old  man,  ivith  a  ivisdom  all  made  of 
experiences,  condemning  the  whole  course  of  faraway 
conquest,  by  which  "the  old  Kingdom  would  be  dispeo- 
pled, weakened  and  transplanted  afar."    IV,  101. 


"Por  quern  se  despovoe  o  reino  antigo, 
Se  enfraquega  e  se  vS,  deitando  a  longe 


—IV,  101. 


After  the  condemnation  of  the  national  policy  pursued 
by  the  Portuguese  kings,  Camoens  renews  in  a  curse 
against  all  human  daring  the  bland  reproaches  of 
Horace  in  his  Ode  to  the  ship  carrying  Virgil  to 
Athens 


" ,    qui    f ragilem   truci 

Commisit  pelago  ratem 
Primus,   " 

*  *  Cursed  be  the  one  the  first  who  in  the  world  put  a  sail 
to  a  dry  log  upon  the  waves. ' ' 

"Oh  maldito  o  primeiro,  que  no  mundo 
Nas  ondas  vela  poz  em  secco  lenho!" 

—IV,  112. 

Then  comes  Adamastor,  than  which  there  is  not  a 
greater  creation  in  modern  Literature,  a  living  Myth. 
Hear  how  the  Giant  tells  his  own  story,  when  he  sees 
that  his  prophecies  will  not  make  the  Portuguese  turn 
their  ships  round.  There  is  not  a  word  that  does  not 
belong  to  the  Poet  in  what  is  going  to  be  read  to  you. 
The  Greek   orators  stopped  to  have   the  decrees   of 


14 

Athens  read  by  the  herald.    I  will  ask  one  of  you  to  be 
the  herald  of  Camoens. 

"I  am  that  hidden  and  great  Cape  which  you  named  of  Tem- 
pests, never  Ivnown  to  Ptolemy,  Pomponius,  Strabo,  Pliny,  nor  to 
any  of  those  who  passed.  .  '  .  .  Here  I  end  all  the  African 
coast  on  this  my  never  seen  promontory,  which  extends  towai'ds 
the  Antartic  Pole,  whom  your  presumption  now  so  much  offends. 

"I  was  one  of  the  fiercest  sons  of  Earth,  like  Enceladus,  ^geus 
and  the  Centiman;  my  name  was  Adamastor  and  I  took  part  in  the 
war  against  him  that  hurls  Vulcan's  bolts:  not  that  I  piled  hill 
upon  hill,  but,  conquering  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  I  was  Captain 
of  the  sea,  where  wandered  the  fleet  of  Neptune  which  I  was 
pursuing. 

"Love  for  the  noble  spouse  of  Peleus  led  me  to  undertake  such 
great  enterprise.  I  scorned  all  the  goddesses  of  Heaven  only  to 
love  the  princess  of  the  waters.  One  day  I  saw  her  with  the  daugh- 
ters of  Nereus  come  out  all  bare  on  the  shore  and  at  once  my  will 
was  so  enslaved  that  even  now  I  do  not  feel  anything  that  I  long  so 
much  for. 

"As  it  would  be  impossible  to  obtain  her  through  the  ugly  hugeness 
of  my  face,  I  determined  to  take  her  by  arms  and  I  told  Doris  of 
my  intent.  The  Goddess  in  dread  speaks  to  her  for  me,  but 
she  with  an  honest  and  candid  laughter  replied:  'What  love  of  a 
Nymph  would  be  enough  to  bear  that  of  a  giant? 

"Still  to  free  the  ocean  from  so  much  war,  I  will  seek  a  way  to 
excuse  my  honour  and  to  avoid  the  harm.'  The  messenger  brought 
me  that  answer,  and,  as  lover's  blindness  is  great,  I  would  not  see 
the  snare  and  my  bosom  was  filled  with  abundances  of  raptures  and 
hopes. 

"Fooled,  renouncing  already  war,  one  night  promised  by  Doris, 
I  saw  at  a  distance  the  beautiful  form  of  the  white  Thetis,  alone 
unrobed.  Like  mad,  I  run  from  afar,  opening  my  arms  to  her  who 
was  the  life  of  this  body,  and  I  begin  to  kiss  her  lovely  eyes,  her 
cheeks  and  her  hair. 

"Oh,  from  humiliation,  I  hardly  can  say  more.  Thinking  I  had 
in  my  arms  the  loved  one,  I  found  myself  embracing  a  rugged  moun- 


IS 

tain  of  the  harshest  wood.  Standing,  face  to  face,  before  a  stone 
which  I  clasped  for  the  angelic  figure,  I  remained  not  a  man,  but 
deaf  and  motionless,  and  close  to  a  rock,  another  rock. 

"Oh,  Nymph  the  most  fair  of  the  ocean,  since  my  presence  does 
not  please  thee,  what  would  it  cost  to  keep  me  in  this  deceit, 
were  it  mountain,  cloud,  dream  or  nought?  Raging  and  well  nigh 
insane  from  the  grief  and  the  shame  suffered  there,  I  left  in 
search  of  another  world  where  none  would  scoff  at  my  tears  and 
my  despair. 

"Meanwhile  my  brethren  were  vanquished  and  in  extremest 
misery  placed,  some,  for  the  greater  surety  of  the  Gods,  lying  be- 
neath various  superposed  mountains,  and,  as  against  Heaven  hands 
are  of  no  avail,  I  began,  while  weeping  my  misfortune,  to  receive 
from  an  enemy  Fate  the  penalty  for  my  audacity. 

"My  flesh  is  converted  into  solid  earth,  my  bones  into  rocks,  and 
these  limbs,  which  thou  seest,  and  this  form  were  extended  along 
these  long  waters;  at  last,  my  enormous  stature  was  changed  by 
the  Gods  into  this  remote  Cape  and,  to  double  my  woes,  Thetis  is 
surrounding  me  with  her  waves." 

—V,  50-59. 


This  is  the  mighty  Spirit  of  the  Cape,  which  will  live 
as  long  as  Table  Mountain  shall  appear  before  men's 
eyes.  '' Already  Phlegon  and  Pyrois  were  drawing, 
with  the  other  pair,  the  radiant  chariot,  when  began 
to  show  itself  the  high  headland  into  which  the  great 
giant  was  converted."   V,  61. 

The  last  of  the  large  frescoes  worthy  of  the  Renais- 
sance is  the  Isle  of  Love,  Vv^iich  Venus  puts  and  moves 
in  the  ocean  before  "the  second  Argonauts,  who 
have  just  discovered  the  New  World,"  to  give  them 
all  the  delights  of  Nature  and  of  Love.  The  Isle 
of  Love  is  a  poem  by  itself.  Is  it  an  allegory, 
as  the  Poet  says?... Or  did  he  only  say  it  to  pass 
the  Cerberus  of  the  Inquisition?  The  sensualism  of  the 
composition  is  as  naif  as  that  of  Eden  before  nakedness 


i6 

was  felt.  The  beauty  of  the  scenery  equals  that  of  any 
other  landscape  in  poetry.  The  whole  tapestry  might 
serve  as  model  for  many  paintings.  The  Chase  of 
Diana  of  the  Domenichino  seems  copied  from  it. 

This  brings  me  to  one  more  great  impression  of  the 
LusiADs :  The  Eenaissance.  The  Lusiads  is  the  only  one 
Poem  that  reflects  and  resumes  it,  the  only  one  written 
under  its  inspiration.  There  is  in  Lisbon  a  most  inter- 
esting manuscript  of  1549,  from  a  Portuguese  painter, 
Francisco  de  Hollanda,  telling  his  conversations  with 
Michelangelo  in  Eome.  I  only  know  a  fragment  trans- 
lated into  French.  Camoeus  never  left  Portugal,  ex- 
cept to  fight  in  Africa  and  to  fight  in  India.  He  had, 
however,  the  intuition  of  the  Renaissance  as  perfect  as 
if  he  had  been,  like  Francisco  de  Hollanda,  in  the  com- 
pany of  Michelangelo,  Baccio  Bandinelli,  Perino  del 
Vaga,  Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  and,  last  but  not  least, 
Vittoria  Colonna,  marchesa  di  Pescara.  That  shows 
that  a  new  spirit  is  an  all-encircling  wave.  Perino,  for 
instance,  will  have  painted  the  ships  of  ^neas  and  the 
struggle  of  the  Giants  with  Jupiter,  in  the  Villa  Doria 
in  Genoa,  under  the  same  dictation  as  Camoens  painted 
Vasco  da  Gama's  ships  and  the  fate  of  Adamastor. 
Camoens'  work  has  exactly  the  character  of  the  later 
work  of  Raphael.  Between  his  Venus,  his  Galatea,  his 
^ '  Cupid  and  those  of  Raphael,  I  at  least  could  not  distin- 

guish. I  never  went  to  the  Farnesina  that  I  had  not  the 
impression  that  Camoens  and  Raphael  were  twin  paint- 
ers. I  keep  in  my  Lusiads  as  its  best  illustration  the 
pictures  of  the  Farnesina. 

The  Mythology  of  the  Lusiads  seems  an  evolution  of 
the  old  Mythology  such  as  would  perhaps  have  taken 
place  if  Paganism  had  lasted  ten  centuries  more  by 


17 

the  side  of  Christianity.  It  is  living.  As  a  Poetics,  it 
has  kept  all  its  plastic  force.  It  is  not  a  pastiche;  it  is 
a  perfect  survival.  Camoens  is  much  more  of  a 
Polytheist  in  invention,  i  do  not  say  in  criticism,  as  he 
never  explamed  his  creations,  than  Goethe.  It  was 
once  said  that  the  Greeks  and  the  Germans  alone  have 
drunk  at  the  cup  of  the  Muses.  There  is  nothing  in 
German  literature  to  compare  with  tiie  myths  of  the 
LusiADs.  The  Muses  are  nowhere  so  visible  as  here. 
The  reign  of  Neptune,  for  example,  had  never  such 
splendour;  never  were  held  in  the  Ocean  so  brilliant 
courts ;  never  did  the  sea  swarm  with  so  many  beautiful 
Nymphs.  The  Lusiads  is  truly  the  poem  of  Venus.  It 
is  a  censer,  in  which  are  burnt  to  her  all  the  perfumes  of 
the  newly  discovered  East. 

A  sixth  great  impression  of  the  Poem  is  the  direction 
of  life  to  the  highest  pursuits.  In  the  Lusi.^ds  Camoens 
has  satisfied  the  four  great  passions  of  his  soul ;  in  fact, 
his  whole  soul :  Country,  Love,  Poetry,  and  Action.  He 
could  not  have  given  them  all  such  an  immensity  of 
expansion  and  such  an  intensity  of  glow  in  any  other 
field.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  superiority  of  the 
Lusiads  to  any  purely  literary  Epic  as  a  guide  of  life. 
The  Poet  lived  his  inspiration ;  his  work  comprises  both 
poetry  and  action  of  the  highest  order. 

The  spirit  of  action  appears  in  every  stanza,  with  the 
spirit  of  loftiness,  that  raises  it.  On  every  human 
sphere  is  marked  the  lines  that  divide  the  highest  and 
the  lowest  regions  of  action.  He  will  say,  for  instance 
of  love:  "Love  of  a  lower  kind  enfeebles  the  strong;" 
or  "Love  badly  placed  is  the  more  exacting."  While 
he  traces  in  admirable  verses  in  Canto  V  and  in  Canto 
X  the  loyalty  and  devotion  of  the  Portuguese  people  to 


i8 

its  monarch,  he  says  bluntly  that  the  Kingdom  will  not 
obey  nor  suffer  a  king  that  will  not  excel  all  others. 

"A  rei  nao  obedece,  nem  consente, 
Que   nao   for    mais   que   todos   excellente." 

C»-i^-  '"'■    >.:u;^-v^-^.xOjU*-  —II,  9  . 

Because  "a  weak  king  makes  weak  a  strong  race." 

"Que   um   fraco  rei   faz   fraca  a  forte   gente." 

—Ill,  138. 

Of  Dom  John  I  he  saj^s  that  ''to  him  strength  grew 
from  his  heart  as  to  the  Hebrew  Samson  from  his 
hair." 

"Joanne  a  quern  do  peito  o  esforgo  crece, 
Como  a  Samsao  hebreu  da  guedelha." 

—IV,  12. 

He  sets  the  standard  of  courage  on  a  higher  basis  than 
the  equality  of  strength,  when  he  says  that  "it  is  not 
like  the  Lusitans  to  fear  a  greater  power  because  of 
being  the  smaller. ' ' 

"Per  que  nao  6  das  forgas  Lusitanas 
Temer  poder  maior  por  mais  pequeno." 

—Ill,  99. 

He  promises  never  to  sing  any  ambitious  man,  who 
wishes  to  rise  to  high  charges  only  to  exercise  his  vices 
in  a  wider  sphere";  nor  him  "who  to  court  the  erring 
vulgar  shall  surpass  Proteus  in  change  of  figure"; 
nor  him  "who  does  not  find  it  just  and  good  respect 
to  pay  the  sweat  of  the  servile  people,"  and  "who 
taxes  with  a  mean  and  rapacious  hand  the  toils  he 
does  not  share."  (VII,  84-86.)  He  condemns  thus 
the  malign  and  cowardly  abuse  of  power:  "He  who  in- 


19 

flicts  a  vile  and  unjust  harm  by  using  the  power  and 
the  force  in  which  he  is  invested,  does  not  win;  the 
true  victory  is  to  have  on  one's  side  right  naked  and 
entire. ' ' 

"Quern  faz  injuria  vil  e  sem  razao, 
Com  forgas  e  poder,  em  que  esta  posto, 
Nao  vence;  que  a  victoria  verdadeira, 
E'  saber  ter  justiga  nua  e  inteira." 

—X,   58. 

He  denounces  Christianity  for  abandoning  the  tomb 
of  Christ  and  upholds  the  freedom  of  Greeks,  Thra- 
cians,  Armenians  and  Georgians  with  eloquence 
greater  than  that  of  Gladstone:  ^'0  wretched  Chris- 
tians, are  you  perchance  the  teeth  sown  by  Cadmus, 
which  give  to  each  other  a  cruel  death,  having  all  come 
from  the  same  womb  1 

O'miseros  Christaos!   pela  ventura 
Sois  OS  dentes  de  Cadmo  desparzidos, 
Que  uns  aos  outros  se  dao  a  morte  dura, 
Sendo  todos  de  um  ventre  produzidos? 

—VII,  9. 

''If  you  go  and  conquer  alien  lands  moved  by  greed 
of  large  seignories,  do  you  not  see  that  the  Pactolus 
and  the  Hermus  both  roll  auriferous  sands  ?  In  Lydia 
and  Assyria  are  worked  threads  of  gold ;  Africa  hides 
in  her  bosom  brilliant  veins.  May  so  much  wealth  move 
you,  since  the  holy  house  does  not  move."    VII,  11. 

He  pays  the  highest  tribute  to  the  liberal  poet-King 
Dom  Diniz,  for  the  foundation  of  the  University  of 
Coimbra : 

"It  was  he  who  first  caused  the  high  craft  of  Minerva  to  be 
practised  in  Coimbra  and  made  the  Muses  desert  the  Helicon  to 
tread  the  rich  verdure  of  the  Mondego;  all  that  could  be  expected 


20 

In  Athens  is  given  here  by  proud  Apollo;  here  he  distributes  the 
wreaths  of  baccharis  and  evergreen  laurel  twined  with  gold." — 
III,   97. 

But  the  gospel  of  the  true  American  spirit,  of  what 
has  been  named  ''strenuous  life",  are  the  verses  in 
which  he  exalts  the  feat  of  the  Portuguese  discoverers 
on  their  arrival  in  India.  Here  you  will  recognize  your 
own  ideal,  when  read  by  one  of  you : 

"It  is  through  these  dreadful  dangers,  these  grievous  labours  and 
fears,  that  those  who  are  friends  of  fame  win  the  immortal  hon- 
ours, the  highest  degrees;  not  by  leaning  on  the  ancient  tree  of 
their  noble  ancestry,  nor  by  lying  on  golden  beds  amidst  soft  sables 
from  Moscovia. 

"Not  with  novel  and  exquisite  viands,  not  with  easy  and  idle 
walks;  not  with  the  varied  and  infinite  delights  that  effeminate  the 
generous  breasts;  not  with  the  never  conquered  appetites,  which 
Fortune  keeps  always  as  her  charms  not  to  allow  anyone  to  turn 
his  steps  into  some  earnest  heroic  deed. 

"But  by  searching  with  his  strong  arm  honours  which  he  may 
rightly  call  his  own;  by  watching  and  dressing  in  arrays  of  steel; 
enduring  tempests  and  wild  waves;  vanquishing  icy  colds  in  the 
heart  of  South  and  regions  bare  of  shelter;  swallowing  the  tainted 
food  spiced  with  arduous  suffering. 

"And  by  forcing  the  face  that  would  grow  pale  to  look  assured, 
gay  and  unbroken,  to  the  red  hot  balls  that,  whistling,  carry  away 
his  comrade's  leg  or  arm:  thus  the  heart  contracts  a  noble  callous- 
ness, spurner  of  honors  and  wealth  forged  by  fortune  and  not 
by  valor  hard  and  righteous. 

"Thus  brightens  the  understanding  which  long  experiences  have 
set  at  rest  and  he  can  see,  as  from  a  high  sphere,  the  base  intricacy 
of  human  dealing  wherever  in  force  the  covenant  of  right,  un- 
mindful of  private  affections.  This  one  shall  rise,  as  is  due,  to 
Illustrious  command  against  his  own  will,  not  by  soliciting." 

I  wish   to   point   out   one   great   impression   more. 


21 

Highest  poetical  genius  may  not  necessarily  require 
adversity  as  its  atmosphere ;  V)ut  the  relation  of  adver- 
,  sity  with  it  is  certainly  a  striking  one  in  the  three  cases 
of  Dante,  Camoens  and  Milton.  In  prosperity  Camoens 
would  not  have  gone  to  India  and  without  the  voyage 
to  India  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  the  Lusiads.  He 
might  have  produced  a  poem  as  beautiful ;  he  could  not 
have  produced  one  so  stirring.  He  might  perhaps  have 
been  even  more  the  poet  of  the  Renaissance,  if  he  had 
seen  Italy  instead;  but  he  would  not  have  been  the  na- 
tional poet  he  is.  That  is  the  last  impression  I  alluded 
to:  that  you  see  throughout  his  work  the  figure  of  the 
Poet  under  the  fate  intent  on  the  creation  of  the 
Lusiads. 

He  begins  full  of  enthusiasm,  certain  of  the  laurel 
that  will  crown  him.  He  says  to  the  boy-king  Dom 
Sebastiam,  speaking  of  his  verses :  ''Thou  shalt  see  love 
of  Country,  not  moved  by  a  vile  prize,  as  it  is  no  vile 
prize  to  be  renowned  by  the  acclaim  of  my  paternal 
nest. 


) ) 


Vereis  amor  da  patria,  nao  movido 
De  premio  vil,  mas  alto,  e  quasi  eterno: 
Que  nao  e  premio  vil  ser  conhecido 
Per  um  pregao  do  ninho  meu  paterno. 

—I,   10. 


And  the  honeymoon  of  intellectual  creation,  of  the 
wedding  of  genius  with  his  work,  lasts  nearly  through- 
out the  composition  of  the  whole  Poem.  Here  and  there 
you  detect  signs  of  dejection  at  the  indifference  and  un- 
STatefulness  he  experiences.  At  the  end  of  the  fifth 
Canto  he  will  say  that  only  his  own  love  for  his  country 
lis  forcing  the  Muses  to  give  renown  in  the  lyre  to  his 
hero,  as  Calliope  is  not  herself  a  friend  of  his,  nor  would 


22 

the  Tagids  leave  their  golden  webs  to  sing  him.  He  re- 
mem])ers  sometimes  and  resents,  but  he  feels  he  is 
fully  avenged  when  he  once  has  pilloried  in  his  Epic  the 
vices  and  abuses  of  India.  He  fights  bravely.  Only 
when  his  task  is  nearly  over  he  shows  weariness.  At 
the  beginning  of  tlie  last  Canto,  after  saying  he  is  losing 
the  taste  for  writing,  he  breaks  in  this  lonely  vain, 
that  makes  one  remember  Milton  on  his  blindness. 

"Years  are  declining  and  shortly  I  shall  have  stepped  from  sum- 
mer into  autumn;  adversity  chills  my  genius,  and  no  longer  I  rejoice 
or  pride  in  it;  sorrows  are  taking  me  to  the  river  of  dark  oblivion 
and  eternal  sleep;  still,  Queen  of  the  Muses,  grant  me  to  fulfill 
the  vow  I  made  to  my  country." — X,  9. 

Vao  OS  annos  decendo,  e  jS.  do  estio 
Ha  pouco  que  passar  ate  o  outomno: 
A  fortuna  me  faz  o  engenho  frio, 
Do  qual  ja  nao  me  jacto,  nem  me  abono. 
Os  desgostos  me  vao  levando  ao  rio 
Do  negro  esquecimento  e  eterno  sono: 
Mas,  tu  me  da  que  cumpra,  6  gran  rainha 
Das  Musas,  c'o  que  quero  a  nagao  minha! 

Or,  as  Mickle  puts  it : 

"Yet  let  me  live  to  crown  the  song 
That   boasts   my   nation's   proud    renown." 

The  Poem,  however,  was  now  complete,  he  could  see 
in  his  manuscript  the  dazzling  wealth  he  had  accumu- 
lated during  those  long  years  of  patient  suffering;  he 
had  given  wings  to  the  prose  of  Castanheda  and  Joam 
de  Barros,  so  that  the  glory  of  Portugal  would  no  longer 
be  buried  to  the  world  in  the  Portuguese  language, 
and  when  he  embarks  to  Lisbon,  after  exile  of  six- 
teen years  in  Asia,  the  hope  of  a  national  recognition 
smiles  again  to  him,  while  no  longer  firing  his  heart  as 


23 

in  his  youth.  What  a  disappointment!  The  nation 
was  already  on  her  death-bed.  She  could  not  feel  the 
message  of  immortality  he  was  bringing — she  had  no 
sympathy  with  those  who  tried  to  lead  her  into  heroic 
action  or  immortal  fame,  and  he  pronounces  his  "No 
more!  No  more!" 

"No  more,  Muse,  no  more.  The  lyre  lies  out  of  tune  and  my  voice 
has  grown  harsh,  not  from  singing,  but  from  finding  that  I  have 
sung  to  a  deaf  and  insensible  people.  This  nation  can  not  give 
the  favors  that  most  fire  the  genius,  as  she  is  immersed  in  the 
taste  of  covetousness  and  in  the  rudeness  of  an  austere,  worn  out 
and  vile  sadness." — X,  45. 

Still  see  what  an  incorrigible  automaton  the  poet, 
the  creator,  is  of  the  inspiration,  which  never  cares  for 
his  own  sorrow.  The  very  last  words  of  the  Lusiads 
shall  be  again  an  appeal  to  the  young  and  mad  king, 
Dom  Sebastiam,  then  of  age,  to  go  to  Africa  and  rout 
the  Moors,  so  that  the  Poet's  "alreadv  renowned  and 
content  Muse"  could  sing  again  and  the  world  might 
see  in  him  "an  Alexander  who  need  not  envy  the  for- 
tune of  Achilles." — X,  156, 

The  Muse  was  content,  but  the  instrument  was 
broken.  This  is  one  of  the  great  impressions  of  the 
Lusiads  :  the  tragedy  of  jiersecuted  genius  at  work. 

Gentlemen,  I  only  wished  to  make  you  more  curious 
of  the  Lusiads  and  I  hope  I  have  succeeded.  I  did  not 
come  here  to  submit  to  criticism  what  an  immemorial 
prescription  raises  above  it.  There  is  a  reason  why 
genius  should  only  be  recognized  by  the  masses,  and 
that  is,  because  it  draws  from  them  the  inspiration  that 
it  returns  to  our  mind  in  poetry,  as  the  cloud  gives  back 
to  the  earth  in  fertilizing  rain  the  water  it  drew  from 
the  ocean.     Here  I  am  remembering  the  observation 


24 

made  by  Camoens,  that  the  water-spout  returns  the  sea- 
water  without  any  of  its  salt.  (V,  22).  Genius  also 
keeps  for  itself  all  the  bitterness  of  the  inspiration  it 
imbibes  in  life's  ocean. 

We  do  not  fear  for  Camoens.  As  soon  as  the 
LusiADs  appeared,  Torquato  Tasso  made  himself  the 
paranymph  del  colto  e  huon  Luigi,  who  has  ever  since 
ranked  by  the  side  of  him  ' '  who  drank  so  deeply  of  the 
Aonian  fount" 

Esse  que  bebeu  tanto  da  agua  Aonia  (V,  87). 

and  of  the  other,  quoting  again  from  him,  "who  illu- 
mines the  whole  Ausonia  and  whose  divine  voice  lulls 
to  sleep  his  native  Mincio  and  swells  the  Tiber  with 
pride." 

Ess'  outro  que  esclarece  toda  Ausonia, 
A  cuja  voz  altisona  e  divina, 
Ouvindo,  o  patrio  Mincio  se  adormece, 
Mas  o  Tibre  c'o  som  se  ensobervece. 

—V,    87. 

He  achieved,  like  them,  through  poetry,  an  aim  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  statesman  and  of  the  king,  that 
of  imparting  immortal  life  to  the  spirit  of  his  race.  Do 
not  compare  the  Lusiads  with  La  Divina  Commedia  or 
with  Paradise  Lost,  or  with  Orlando  Furioso  and 
Gerusalemme  Liberata;  compare  it  with  the  Iliad  and 
the  ^neid.  Dante  gives  you  the  spirit  of  the  Middle 
Ages ;  Aristo  and  Tasso  try  to  inspire  themselves  in  an 
epoch  that  was  no  longer  theirs ;  Milton  takes  his  sub- 
ject beyond  the  range  of  human  imagination,  where  it, 
at  least,  could  not  soar  with  our  senses ;  Camoens  alone 
among  the  poets  remained  on  the  same  ground  that 
Homer  and  Virgil  occupied,  and  he  shows  that  that 


25 

ground  is  eternal,  as  the  one  on  which  was  raised  the 
Parthenon. 

Camoens,  no  doubt,  l^orrowed  from  Virgil,  as  when 
he  makes  Venus  the  protectress  of  the  Portuguese 
and  of  their  ships,  but  whatever  he  l)orrows  he 
renovates,  as  a  great  painter  treating  the  same  subject 
that  inspired  a  former  one.  No  human  mind  was  ever 
great  enough  to  owe  all  to  itself  alone,  Virgil  took  from 
Homer  more  than  Camoens  from  him.  The  law  of 
genius  is  that  of  Moliere:  *'Je  prencls  mon  hien  ou  je  le 
trouve;"  only  he  must  make  it  truly  his  own  by  a  differ- 
ent and  superior  title,  as  Shakespeare  so  often  did. 

Who  could  say  which  is  more  beautiful:  the  Greek 
temple  or  the  Gothic  Cathedral?  It  is  like  asking  which 
is  the  finer  sight :  the  sea  in  calm  or  the  sea  in  tempest. 
We  may  love  above  all  the  figure  of  Prometheus ;  we  are 
bound  to  do  so,  as  we  are  his  intellectual  children,  but 
if  we  consider  mind,  not  heart,  power,  not  beneficence, 
we  cannot  place  the  Prometheus  of  ^Eschylus  above  the 
Satan  of  Milton.  No  one  knows  which  is  the  greater  of 
the  two :  Newton,  who  found  the  law  of  the  Universe,  or 
Raphael,  who  received  the  wand  of  beauty.  Intellectual 
measures  must  be  taken  in  depth  and  width,  as  well  as 
in  height,  and  you  have  to  look  for  them  in  design,  in 
colour,  in  music,  and  not  only  in  words. 

Gentlemen,  I  did  not  intend,  on  coming  here,  to  in- 
dulge in  any  invidious  comparisons.  They  nowhere 
appear  so  odious  as  in  the  enjoyment  of  Nature  and  of 
Poetry.  I  hope  you  do  not  believe  in  them.  The  true 
law  of  criticism  is  found  in  the  Genesis : '  *  And  God  saw 
that  it  was  good."  All  is  equally  good  that  is  really 
created.  You  cannot  graduate  perfection.  I  did  not 
mean  when  I  took  for  my  subject  the  place  of  Camoens 
in  literature  to  put  him  in  line  with  the  other  great 


26 


poets  and  take  their  respective  heights.  I  only  wanted 
to  show  that  he  is  one  of  those  peaks,  which  cannot  be 
measured,  of  the  immortal  chain  of  Creators. 


ERRATA. 

Ooi  page  13,  19th  line,  read  "Cursed  be  the  first"  instead 
of  "Cursed  be  the  one  the  first,"  etc. 

On  page  20,  the  7th  paragraph  should  read : 
"Thus  brightens  the  understanding  which  long  experiences  have 
set  at  rest  and  he  can  see,  as  from  a  high  sphere,  the  base  intricacy 
of  human  dealing.  Wherever  be  in  force  the  covenant  of  right,  un- 
mindful of  private  affections,  this  one  shall  rise,  as  is  due,  to 
illustrious  command  against  his  own  will,  not  by  soliciting." 

On  page  22,  7th  line,  read  "lonely  vein"  instead  of  "lonely- 
vain,"  etc. 

On  page  22,  31st  line,  read  "after  an  exile"  instead  of 
"after  exile,"  etc. 

On  page  24,  27th  line,  read  "Ariosto"  instead  of  "Aristo." 

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